


The Life That I Have

by athousandwinds



Category: Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Jones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandwinds/pseuds/athousandwinds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still. This is growing up, isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Life That I Have

> The life that I have  
> Is all that I have  
> And the life that I have  
> Is yours
> 
> The love that I have  
> Of the life that I have  
> Is yours and yours and yours
> 
> \- Leo Marks, "The Life That I Have"

 

Life at Chrestomanci Castle was usually quite fun when Millie wasn't there, though, obviously, lots better when she was. Christopher wasn't so broody, for one thing. Sometimes, if she didn't write to him one Sunday, he didn't speak to anyone for days until she did. For Christopher, this was equivalent to an entire order of silent monks taking part in an all-singing, all-dancing extravaganza.

"Grant," he said when I told him this, "do you think you might have a kink in your brain?"

"No," I replied, but I was privately sure that he had.

Still, it was approaching the end of term and Christopher was bouncing off the walls. Gabriel de Witt had to threaten him with cleaning the silver ("Silver that I especially brought from Series Seven, Christopher, the last time I was there," with a dark look at me) to make him settle down and stop tormenting Flavian. Christopher made Flavian a beautiful apology, which he accepted with far less grace and we continued lessons peacefully until 11 o'clock, when he perked up again.

"Millie will be getting on the train now."

"We are all aware of that, Christopher." Gabriel licked his finger and turned a page in the thick, musty tome he was reading. Christopher had demanded every train timetable in the Castle and spent hours in the library comparing ABC to Bradshaw and cross-referencing them with the railway office. I knew he must have telephoned them several times, because they lodged a complaint of harassment against Chrestomanci Castle and we had to issue a public statement.

Christopher was foiled, however, when Millie wrote to Gabriel asking if someone could meet her in London on the twenty-ninth and oh, by the way, she'd already booked her tickets home from her school in Lausanne.

"I wouldn't want to bother anyone, but the St Albans train is awful. Do tell Christopher thank you, but there's no need for the Orient Express when there are several perfectly good trains going the same way."

"I'll meet her," Christopher offered. "My driving is flawless, Jason will tell you so. I can get her back here before afternoon tea."

"I won't," Jason said indignantly, because Christopher's driving was awful and we all knew it. He drove like he did magic, all slapdash and irritation. He was secretly very careful when he did magic – he only pretended it was easy – but no one had ever stayed in a car with him long enough to decide whether it was the same there.

"It is of no matter," Gabriel said, in his most forbidding manner. "This will be your punishment, Christopher. Conrad will meet Millie in London."

Christopher glared – not at me, thankfully, but at Gabriel. Say what you like about him – I always have – but he was never cross in the wrong direction.

I drove down to London on the morning of the twenty-ninth. I had to get up an hour earlier than usual, and so I wasn't very pleased with the world until the Calais train steamed in and Millie got off.

"Hello, Conrad! Will you tip the porter, I've spent my absolute last shilling on lunch, and oh, it's so good to see you again!" This end note was accompanied by a fierce hug, during which she managed to drop her hand-luggage and knock over one of her smaller suitcases. The porter, I noticed – I always noticed these things after being a footman – was as expressionless as Andrew at his most wanting to laugh. I tipped him five shillings and helped Millie carry her trunks out to the car myself.

"How are you? You look much better than I thought you would, after Christopher wrote about you being so ill. No, of course I'm glad!"

After we'd piled into the car and I'd got the blasted thing started, we talked about Lausanne, which was the second most wonderful place in the world, and about the Castle, which generally took the prize for being filled with even more friends than she had at school. We'd been driving for about an hour when she turned to me and asked,

"You know, I was expecting Christopher to come. Is he all right?"

Feeling a little bit nettled, I said, "Oh, he's fine."

"To be honest," Millie said, as if she realised I was annoyed, "I'm rather relieved it was you. Christopher _would_ start a fight on the road and then I'd have to get the train after all."

This made me feel slightly better, so I said, "He wanted to, but Gabriel wouldn't let him. He's in disgrace at the moment."

"I'm sure he deserves it," Millie said placidly and we went on talking about Christopher for at least another hour before we stopped to have tea in the village we were passing through.

We reached Chrestomanci Castle just as dusk was falling and Christopher was waiting for us at the gate, waving a book that had the marker sticking out at practically the first page.

"You two have been an age," he said. "Couldn't you have put your foot down _once_, Grant?"

"I wouldn't let him," Millie told him. "I'm glad he doesn't drive like he's trying to take off into the sky, unlike _some_ people. Christopher."

Christopher scowled at her and the look on his face was so funny I had to laugh, making him even more annoyed. But Millie hugged him then and his grimace vanished. He stuck his tongue out at me and waggled it.

"Don't do that, Christopher," Millie said without looking, her tone full of affectionate exasperation.

It was a week later that I heard her sounding like that again; and when I went into the drawing room I found her standing over Christopher, who was sprawled on the sofa and looking moody.

"Don't be stupid," she told him. "Mrs Liddell's only being kind. _Very_ kind."

"She thinks everyone wants to marry her son." Christopher sat up, thrusting a letter at her. "She's inviting you because you're the only one she thinks is good enough for him."

"Well, I don't want to marry Edward Liddell," Millie said, "so I don't see what the problem is."

"Of course you don't," Christopher said, looking much relieved. "I mean, who would? I certainly don't want to. Neither do you, do you, Grant?"

"Me?" I was surprised; I hadn't realised that Christopher had seen me come in. Millie had turned to look at me, looking for all the world as if she were taking Christopher's enquiry entirely seriously.

"Yes, you, Grant. Would you marry Edward Liddell?"

"The only man I'd marry," I said, trying to sound like Christopher, "is you."

"See!" Christopher looked triumphant. "Even Grant wouldn't marry Liddell and it's a well-known fact that he has no taste whatsoever."

"If you want to marry Christopher _and_ a man," Millie told me afterwards, "you'll have to wait a long time."

"I don't really want to," I said a bit anxiously. "I was joking."

"Lucky you," she replied, but this was after Christopher had stalked out, declaring his intention of proving Edward Liddell's utter unworthiness.

Millie went to tea at Mrs Liddell's house with Christopher's full approval, having presented her with a list of people in the Castle and surrounding areas who found Edward Liddell unattractive. I suspected that most of the signatures came from people who didn't know who either Liddell or, indeed, Christopher was. But he couldn't persuade her that everyone she met at parties was boring, unsightly, or otherwise repellent, because they were often people whose only job was to be charming and sociable and otherwise charismatic. It put him in a really foul mood for days on end.

Millie's first proposal came about two months later, though Christopher's vaguest look had frightened off Edward Liddell (he told me that he'd died a thousand deaths imagining what Christopher was planning). It was a man named Francis Paulett and I have to say that I thought he was the nicest man I'd ever met. He was courteous where Christopher was caustic and amiable where Christopher was arrogant. I made a point of saying this sort of thing where Christopher could hear, because he was beginning to develop a tic in his cheek and Francis Paulett invariably set it off.

"No good ever came of a man called Francis," he informed us at dinner one night.

"As I understand it, you have a cousin named Francis," Gabriel said in his driest tone.

"Yes, that's what I mean."

The unfortunate thing about it, though, was that when push came to shove, Christopher and I were sitting in the parlour. Millie and Paulett were chatting and Christopher was absorbed in _The Abuse of Magic: Laws and Statutes_, though I didn't see how anyone could be. I was pretending not to listen to Millie and Paulett, but it was becoming harder.

"Miss de Witt, I must say you look lovely this evening."

I looked at Millie. She seemed the same as ever, very nice and all but not an angel descending from on high or anything. My sister Anthea was prettier, but I supposed Millie had one of those faces where there wasn't anything in particular that you liked, but everything just added up to make something a bit more special.

"Thank you," Millie replied, but she seemed slightly uncomfortable, even though her finishing school was supposed to make her used to this stuff.

"Miss de Witt – "

Christopher coughed.

"Terribly sorry," he murmured, but you could see he wasn't at all. Millie narrowed her eyes at him, but she didn't seem to be much bothered otherwise.

"Miss de Witt," Paulett said, casting a dire look at Christopher, who held the _Abuse of Magic_ up to his face. "I wonder if I might have a private word – ?"

This was the moment that Christopher and I should have discreetly excused ourselves, but Christopher was apparently buried in his book and I didn't dare go without him. I knew Christopher well enough by then, you see, to know that he would undoubtedly do something dreadful.

But it was too late. Christopher lowered the book and said in his politest, most offensive voice, "I'm afraid not. Miss de Witt is under my chaperonage and should anything happen to her in these circumstances, I can only blame myself."

Paulett began, "Anything _happen_ to her – !" in horrified tones, but Millie was choking with laughter and I was grinning in a sort of terrorised way, like I often did with Christopher.

"Christopher," Millie said when she'd calmed down a bit. "Go. It's fine."

Christopher rose in his most lordly manner. "Come, Grant," he said grandly. "We shall leave this vile seducer to work his wicked wiles on our innocent friend."

This set Millie off again, of course, and I only managed to get out of the parlour before I started giggling, too. Christopher regarded me strangely, like I was some weird creature he had never encountered before.

"I do not care for your response to this crisis, Grant," he said critically. "A little levity is overlooked in some situations, but this is hardly one of them."

"I turned him down," Millie said to me later. "I told him that it was a great secret, but Christopher was actually as mad as a hatter and I simply couldn't leave Gabriel to deal with him alone. Don't tell him!" 'Him' was Christopher, naturally. "He really was awful to poor Francis; he can stew over this for weeks for all I care."

Christopher did stew. He was beautifully casseroled the day I found him in his bedroom, playing with the gold ring from round his neck. He was rolling it round his fingers, throwing it up in the air and catching it, which I thought was a dangerous thing to do with his spare life and told him so.

"Oh, don't preach, Grant. You do it even worse than old Fields." Fields was the vicar. "Even worse than Gabriel." This I thought was a bit much, even for Christopher, but I let him off because he seemed so miserable anyway that it was scarcely worth yelling at him.

"What's wrong?" I asked instead, trying to be a good friend. Christopher shook his head at me. His curls didn't spring as they normally did; they were plastered down with a new kind of pomade.

"Everything, Grant. It's just come home to me that Millie might not stay here and it's bothering me a lot more than I thought it would.

"Maybe that's because it's real now?" I suggested. Christopher stood up and went over to the window. He was lit oddly by the sinking sun; the shadows cast made his face look ill and horribly unhappy. It was such a change from the normal Christopher that I felt all at once hideously worried.

"Yes, I suppose. I just don't want her to leave when she's only now got home..." He left the window and threw himself onto his bed, where he started playing with the ring again.

"Well," I said, feeling dreadfully awkward, "she's got her own life to live, you know."

"Oh, you're no blasted help!" Christopher chucked a pillow at me, not aiming very well, and I went out feeling like a failure. Christopher didn't come down for dinner.

Gabriel sent him off a few days after that to handle something in Eight B and life was quite flat without him. Even when Christopher was in the sulks he could be entertaining, because it was so enjoyable to tease him. It was such routine stuff that I was surprised to find Millie in the Eight B section of the library doing research.

"I don't see why you're so worried," I said. Millie flushed badly and closed the book in her hands.

"I'm not, really," she said, obviously lying, and I felt a bit hurt. She must have seen it, because she sighed and added, "Well, I am. But, you know, if Christopher can possibly make all this harder for himself then he will."

She cheered up when he returned, trailing clouds of glory behind him like car exhaust. Even Gabriel was pleased and gave him one of his rare compliments. We had guests for dinner that night and Christopher delivered a rousing account of his exploits, of which the most believable was the riding a dragon bareback.

Miss Hall seemed to be enthralled, however, and when we adjourned to the drawing room for coffee, Christopher devoted himself to her: refilling her cup, smiling charmingly and telling her stories which I knew for a fact were made up on the spot. Millie and Elizabeth took charge of her sister Miss Kitty and chatted with her all evening, with only the occasional glance at Miss Hall laughing. I was stuck out on my own, since Jason and Henrietta were both ill upstairs and the only Hall left was the mother, who was monopolising Flavian. I wished badly that Bernard hadn't chosen today to go off on one of his Magic and Accountancy courses, or even that Gabriel would sort out Two A quickly and come home. Christopher's voice was rising and he was using his hands to talk volubly. I excused myself and went to the library, where Miss Rosalie and Mordecai Roberts were eating sandwiches and drinking tea.

"Hello," they said, and didn't seem to mind me being there at all, but after a few minutes Mordecai stretched and claimed he was going to bed. Miss Rosalie went up a few minutes after him and I was alone again, but at least this time I didn't have to feel guilty for not making conversation. I settled down quite happily in the corner with a book about pirates.

I don't know how long I was there, but I had to light the lamps twice (but they were nearly burnt down when I lit them the first time, so it was probably all right) and Millie eventually came in, her face red.

"Christopher's being aggravating! – At least, I don't suppose he means to be."

"I bet he does," I said. "You know Christopher."

"I do, and oh! He can be terrible. I wish he'd grow up."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, that's all! Not to me or Elizabeth. He said goodnight to Miss Hall and then went straight upstairs."

"Perhaps he's got a sore throat," I said and Millie giggled.

"Oh, yes! I'll make sure of it, in fact, if he comes down to breakfast like that."

"Like what?"

"Like _anything_." She gave me a friendly grimace and yawned. I suggested that we go to bed and she agreed with alacrity. While she was in her bathroom, I knocked on Christopher's door.

"Go away."

I went in. Christopher glared at me.

"Millie says if you don't come down to breakfast looking like the Lords of Karma have been beating you up all night, she'll do it herself."

"Really?" Anyone else would have been intimidated by the idea of being attacked by an enchantress, but Christopher became positively delighted.

"Not in so many words," I admitted, "but I think that was what she meant."

Christopher dragged a comb through his wiry curls. "Excellent, my good Grant."

He seemed so pleased with Millie's reaction that I couldn't quite understand it, but I put it down to them being silly over each other. It made me feel odd and a bit left out, like there was a joke they were holding over my head.

"I've got twenty-four hour 'flu," Christopher declared the morning after at breakfast, looking as healthy as he possibly could be. "I haven't gone anywhere near Jason or Henrietta, I promise."

"Don't come near me," Bernard said with a shudder. He'd only got back from his conference last night, since a mini-crisis in the stock market had provided the students with a learning opportunity. "You may still have germs."

"I don't think I do," Christopher argued, nonplussed. "Look at me, I'm fine."

One of the footmen came round with a silver salver to present the morning post. Christopher took six letters and opened the official-looking one with no small glee.

"Christopher," Miss Rosalie began, sounding resigned, but Christopher interrupted.

"It's addressed to Chrestomanci, who, at this precise moment in time, is me. And we can't possibly ignore a missive from our esteemed government, can we?"

"I was about to say," Miss Rosalie said with wearied sarcasm, "please feel free to use your letter-opener rather than simply ripping this 'missive' out of the envelope."

"It's probably only a memo, anyway," Mordecai Roberts teased, ruffling Christopher's hair as he passed by on the way to his seat. Christopher wrinkled his nose at him.

"They want to inform me that in this time of crisis – _what_ time of crisis? – oh, I know, the riots in Yorkshire. But that's not a _crisis_. That's the council playing silly buggers with the factory workers."

"What is it they want?" Millie asked, putting down her toast.

"My full co-operation. Do I have to give it to them?"

"You're a government employee," Miss Rosalie said with unaccustomed gentleness.

"I know, but I still think the factory workers have the right of it in this case." Christopher picked at his eggs, bursting a yolk with his fork. "How do I tell them to get stuffed?"

"You tell them that you will _of course_ be personally willing to assist in the mediation of this incident, but that you cannot sanction the use of magic to repel rioters." Mordecai Roberts smiled. "Isn't that right, Rosalie?"

"I suppose so," she said, but her gaze was troubled as it fell on Christopher.

"I'll do that then," Christopher said decidedly. "I'll go and write now – oh, I'll take these with me." He motioned at the remaining letters on the table. "I'll be in Gabriel's study for about an hour, if anyone wants to find me."

It was about two hours later when Millie and I went looking for him there. He was curled up in Gabriel's big armchair, staring at a letter on expensive, perfumed paper. The handwriting, from what I could see of it, was looped and swirling and very highly-schooled.

"How's your mother?" Millie asked, her voice soft.

"In full bloom," Christopher said curtly. "Never been sleeker in her life." It was an odd word, 'sleeker'; it made me think of a fat cat.

"What's wrong, then? Is she marrying again?"

"It's fine." It was Christopher's most dismissive tone, the one that said he wasn't going to tell you anything, so why didn't you buzz off.

"Oh, botheration!" Millie snatched the letter out of his hand. Christopher let her take it, his eyes flicking up to watch her face. "I don't see anything particularly awful – oh, she wants to know if you're getting married. Well, you're almost of age; I shouldn't think that would be unusual. Mothers in books always say that."

"Yes," Christopher said sharply, "but she's barely written to me my whole time here. Why now?"

"She writes every six months," Millie said soothingly. "It's August, isn't now the usual time?"

"Well, it doesn't matter. What possible concern can she have in my life? I haven't even seen her since I was thirteen." It was clear by now that Christopher's mood was because he was absolutely livid and, underneath that, extremely hurt. I remembered how I'd felt when Mum signed my school-leaving form and Millie put her arms around him.

"Where was she writing from?" I asked.

"Paris." Christopher twitched. "It wouldn't have cost much to take the boat or the train here, would it? Just for a week or so. It might even have been cheaper than staying at l'Hotel Charmant."

Millie tightened her grip. Christopher snorted, his head on her shoulder and his thumb tapping a beat into her back.

"She never answers anything I say in my letters to her. She writes to me like I'm an acquaintance, someone she met a few years ago and got put on a list of People Who Should Be Kept Informed. She might as well just send a Christmas card."

"She does that, too," I said, but it was the wrong thing to say, and Christopher's face grew ugly.

"Well, at least I can delight her heart in one respect." He jumped up, pushing Millie away and then taking her hands in one swift movement. "Millie, will you marry me?"

There was a silence, the bad kind; the sort where you'd be happy if an army of zombies came bursting through the wall just to stop everyone looking at each other like that. Christopher's expression was first horrified, then terrified, then just as quickly his usual lordly gaze resettled itself. But those few seconds had been a revelation, and they meant that Millie recovered before the rest of us.

"Not if you ask like that, I won't," she said cheerfully, which was good because it let everyone get away without being too humiliated or heartbroken.

"Oh, well!" Christopher said, looking relieved. "But Grant's here."

"I don't mind that!"

"I'd conjure flowers," he said reasonably, "but you get hay-fever."

"It's all right," Millie said and I saw that she now seemed quite nervous, "if you don't – it's all right."

"I did mean it – I do – oh, blow it." Christopher ducked his head for a moment and came up with a gold ring. He looked uncommonly serious, more like Gabriel than himself. "Will you marry me?"

Millie stared at the ring. I looked at it properly and realised it was the one he wore round his neck. "Christopher – "

"It only makes sense." Christopher lifted his shoulders and looked away, shuffling his feet. "I mean, who else would I give it to?"

Millie glanced from the ring to his face and back again. "I. All right, then."

She held out her hand and Christopher took it. They shook hands rather awkwardly and Millie held the ring in her palm. "Christopher – "

I slipped out then, because it was getting embarrassing; even worse than my sister Anthea and Count Robert. I went down to the library, where Elizabeth was writing a letter to one of her Italian friends.

"I think Millie and Christopher are engaged now," I said. It was an odd feeling, as if they'd grown up without me. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

"That's nice." She didn't say it in a bored way or anything; she seemed quite pleased, but it didn't help.

"I think they might announce it at dinner."

"Why did you say you _think_ they're engaged?"

"They were being silly."

"Oh, Christopher's always silly," Elizabeth said, and though I knew this wasn't exactly true, I nodded anyway.

"Is Gabriel back yet?"

"About ten minutes ago," Elizabeth said, pointing somewhere in the direction of the ceiling. "He went straight to bed, though."

I drifted about the house for most of the day. Jason and Henrietta were well enough to leave their rooms for dinner, so Millie and Christopher didn't have to chase people all over the house to tell them. Of course, everyone was very happy for them, which made me feel even worse for thinking of myself at a time like this. But Millie came and found me after dinner.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Elizabeth says you've been like a wet weekend all day."

I started up, about to go and tell Elizabeth what I thought of her insulting people behind their backs, but Millie pushed me back down.

"What's the matter?" she repeated, and this time I told her.

"I know what you mean," she said. "I felt just like that when Elizabeth met Antonio. Like you're jealous but at the same time not at all? Yes."

Knowing that someone else had felt this strange half-envy made me feel a lot better, because at least half of it had been guilt over not being joyful enough. Millie and I talked most of that evening, which helped, and she smiled at me a lot.

"Christopher wants you to be best man. Well, he doesn't want you to be, you're going to be whether you like it or not." This was so very Christopher that I laughed out loud. But also, I was a little worried.

"What are you going to do when Christopher becomes Chrestomanci? I mean, everyone here works for the government. Are you going to do that?"

I was right to be worried, I think, because the Chrestomanci isn't so much one person as it is a well-oiled machine. I mean, Gabriel does the actual appearances and, when it comes to the crunch, the magic, but there are some complicated spells which take hours and hours to set up, which Flavian helps with, and Miss Rosalie makes sure everything is neat and orderly so people can find things in the library and in Gabriel's office. But it's not just a job, because you hardly ever get time off and everyone lives here like they're a huge family.

I tried to explain this to Millie, and she said, "If I minded, I shouldn't do it. There's enough money to pay for any training I want, but I don't particularly want any other."

"And Christopher?"

"Christopher's different again." Millie's smile widened suddenly. "But I wasn't really lying when I said he needed someone to look after him, you know."

"He's already the star of the show now," I argued. "What happens when Gabriel retires?"

"I'll write to the government for him." Millie shrugged. "I know what you mean, still! But, you know, I haven't been swallowed up in his entourage any more than you have. I couldn't." She touched the sole of her foot thoughtfully.

"No, I suppose that's true," I said. "Is everything all right, then?"

Millie scrunched up her face. "In all nine hours? So far."

I stuck my tongue out at her, the last province of childhood. She laughed and laughed.

I am writing this the night before I leave this world to go back to Series Seven. Everyone I know has sniffled a bit – even Jason, but he'll never admit it. My cases are packed and Christopher will take me there himself. He's promised Gabriel not to do anything ridiculous like kidnap me and take me back home. I have a job waiting for me, Gabriel says, and Christopher has a responsibility blah blah blah, Christopher says.

I'm nervous about it, of course – I've only been back once a year since everything that happened with Uncle Alfred. I had to study my own world just so I wouldn't make an idiot of myself when I didn't know who was ruling the Slavo-Teutonic States or anything. But I'm prepared to take whatever happens – after all, I shall be getting a much better start in adult life than most people do. Anthea has written me lovely letters about what she's doing, so if everything else goes wrong, I still have her support.

Millie and Christopher are on the sofa by the fire, holding hands behind the cushions. They aren't saying much to each other and Millie keeps yawning so I think she'll go upstairs in a few minutes. But they are happy.

Elizabeth is out in the hallway. I think she's telephoning Caprona, which will make Gabriel frown tomorrow when he receives the bill. But no one will mind too much.

I will miss everyone, naturally. I don't know what the first few nights are going to be like, when I want to knock on someone's door and can't. I can only hope I won't be too homesick. It's funny – I'm going home, technically, so I should be ecstatic. But Chrestomanci Castle is sort of like my home now and leaving it is going to hurt lots.

Still. This is growing up, isn't it?


End file.
